


how many secrets can you keep?

by swallowedsong (bookstvnerdlove)



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Secret Relationship, character study via sexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:17:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookstvnerdlove/pseuds/swallowedsong
Summary: it's his hands that get to her every time





	how many secrets can you keep?

****It should feel shadier than it does, the rural motel a long way upstate, the quick maneuver across two lanes of oncoming traffic. The way he crowds her back as she turns the key into the lock, his fingers trailing along the back of her neck, his only sign of a shared impatience.

It feels almost dangerous, this secret tryst just thirty miles from their actual destination.

The cabin belongs to Curtis but he really bought it for Frank, even though he swears he didn’t. Even still, there’s something to it, the act of revival, of construction after all of the death and destruction. Curtis is good at that, sewing up a person’s insides as much as their outsides. 

She comes with him sometimes, when she’s not on deadline, or doing favors for Foggy or when Trish isn’t trying to bring her into the fold of the growing and mis-matched superhero support group. She comes sometimes and they spend weekends at platonic distances, even though Micro and Curtis constantly tease Frank about her presence. 

(She’s accepted, yet she wonders if she still would be if they really knew.) 

.

If there really is a scientific theory out that that allows for alternate universes, she knows there’s one where Maria is here with Frank and she’s somewhere with Matt. She knows that sometimes Curtis sees history instead of the future, that he sees what might have been. She’d be offended but she knows Foggy does the same. 

But it’s like she told Frank one of those nights early on, back when they were still pretending that they weren’t going to end up here. There’s a moment in time that offers a glimpse into another version of her life. It’s the rain falling as two people walk, drenched, along a city block, not caring how wet they get. It’s a kiss that makes the butterflies in her stomach sing. She remembers everything that happened in that moment with such a precise clarity and yet also in the same way that she remembers things in her life before New York. It’s her, but not her, watching her past like the scene in a movie, even at the same time that she remembers feeling the butterflies in her stomach sing.

That was the moment that should have been the spark, the start of sweet love story between two people in a big city who both had some darkness in their past. A love story where their only worry is that, one day when their kids ask how they met, his eyes will catch hers across the dining room table and they’ll remember an interrogation room and lie with smiles on their faces.

It’s a life that she wanted, once upon a time. A life she was on the verge of grasping.

She can never be that Karen again.

.

(That was the night they stopped pretending with each other.)

.

It’s his hands that get to her every time. Their grip upon the wheel. Strong, blunt, fingers that leave the good kind of bruise at her hips when he slides into her from behind. He always starts all gentle, with tracing fingertips along her spine, the kind that send shivers across her entire body, that make her antsy for  _more._

And he’s always so  _good_  with those hands, softer than they ought to be. He jokes that some hipster with a man bun recommended the brand of moisturizer to him back when he was rocking the look and slinging a sledgehammer every day.  _He’s secure enough, Karen, to admit to this, don’t you see?_

That slow slide up her legs is one of her favorite things, her back against the door, not caring about any discomfort at her back. Just the way his hands feel against her legs, sliding up, up, up. Teasing with touch as he slides under the elastic waist of her underwear and drags them down.

Slowly, the tease, his rumbling laughter at her when she huffs out her impatience, the way his hands grip at her thighs when she tries to speed up his process. His sharp inhale of breath as he falls to his knees. 

(Yes, the way his hands feel just might be one of her favorite things.)

.

The rest of the weekend she’ll feel this, a ghost of sensation that lingers where his hands twist in her hair, his mouth at her neck. The grip of his hands, pulling  _just enough_  to twist under her skin and make the ache between her legs stronger. The kiss he places at that curve, the place where her nerves drive her wild, is bright hot against her flushed skin. Burning in his memory, long enough to last the forty eight hours of pretend that she’s willing to endure. 

His teeth nip at her skin as she twines her legs around him, skirt bunched up at her waist, her heels doing their best to drop his pants the rest of the way to the floor. He’s got a spare pair of boxers in her purse for after, but she knows that the entire weekend, his bag will be marked, too, now. The scent of her arousal lingering on his clothes. 

.

(The first time ends like that, all rushed and hot, sweaty bodies partially clothed twisting until they’re disheveled and sated.)

.

They’re going to be late, but the room has no air condition so she lures him into the shower. It’s slower this time, their hands gently exploring along with soap until she finds herself pressed front first against tile, his fingers trailing down her stomach and his erection at her back. It’s raw, the slow slide of bodies and the way his fingers curl inside her. 

He leans his head until his forehead reaches the spot where his other hand has linked with hers on the shower wall. He nuzzles that connection as he grinds against her and makes her pant. She can’t do anything except feel the way he surrounds her. It’s consuming and protective all at once. Maybe later she’ll tell him again that she’s not fragile. 

But for now, it’s like they’re trying to get underneath each others skin, so deep that the only thing left to do is exhale his name. 

.

When they finally arrive, Curtis asks if it rained somewhere along the way, Frank just shrugs, his lips curling into a smirk. 

(Maybe this will really be the night they stop pretending.)


End file.
